LARA OF JASOOM
by Thuria
Summary: A century old, Lara O'Dae looks 25 and is often forced to move before her friends suspect she doesn't age. Despondent at having to leave a beloved home, she is transported to Mars where she experiences many adventures while rescuing a blind prince. (This story was previously published by my granddaughter, DecemberSapphire.) Three sequels follow, and two stand-alones.. (Post-canon)
1. Chapter 1

[Written fifty years ago, Lara of Jasoom is based, of course, on the books of Edgar Rice Burroughs and not the movie. Since some of my references may be unfamiliar to those who have only seen the movie, I urge you to read the series, five of which are published in this section. The rest may be found on the ERB website.

Reviews provide encouragement – please let me know what you think.]

**LARA OF JASOOM**

CHAPTER 1 - Introduction

It is nearly eighty years now since John Carter made his first improbable crossing of the great void between Earth and Mars. In this year 1968 Earth is on the brink of space travel. Soon a manned craft will reach our satellite and it will not be long before Mars is reached and its secrets discovered.

What will happen then? Mars' few warlike peoples are no match for Earth's overwhelming billions. It grieves me to think that this mighty, ancient culture could be destroyed even as were the Greeks, the Romans, and the Incas and Aztecs.

However that is in the future, and my concern in writing this journal is with the present and immediate past. I think I am the first woman to have reached Mars – at least, if there are others I have not heard of them, nor have John Carter or Ulysses Paxton.

For those who would hear more of Barsoom and her remarkable people, here is my tale.

I am a teacher, though I have done many other things in my lifetime. It is a long lifetime, too, for I have lived more than a century. Unlike John Carter, however, I do remember my childhood, around the time of Confederation in Upper Canada. My parents were well-to-do and sent me to school in England. Returning home as a young woman, I began to teach. Periodically, during those early years, I travelled far and wide across Canada and the United States. My parents died within a year of each other near the turn of the Century and I moved away from Ontario. I had to keep moving every ten or fifteen years because I discovered that I never aged. At this writing, as I begin my second century of life, I look the same as I did at 25. Obviously I dared not let my friends suspect lest I be regarded as a scientific marvel.

I was living in a remote British Columbia town when the miracle occurred. I lived alone in a small but comfortable cottage beside a lovely lake, commuting daily by car the several miles to the small country school where I taught all twelve grades. I had lived there longer than any other place because I loved it so, but the time was nearing when I knew I would have to move on. I wore glasses and affected a severe hair style to alter and age my appearance, but I could not change my fresh complexion, youthful body, or reduce the abundance of my red hair.

The thought of leaving this beloved home depressed me. I sat on my porch late one June night, savouring the warmth and and softness of the spring air. Apart from the eternal whistling of the crickets, the night was absolutely still and quite, quite dark. On an impulse I decided to have a swim. The water was refreshing and I swam out some way from the shore. When I floated on my back to rest momentarily, my eyes alighted on a brilliant red star, directly overhead. Mars. A powerful longing came over me – the same irresistible urge described by John Carter and Ulysses Paxton – then something snapped, there was a moment of unbelievable cold and . . .

Suffice it to say that within a short time I opened my eyes on a world far from Earth. I _knew_ it was Mars.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

The sky was pink and cloudless, and a smaller sun, low in the sky, shone brilliantly upon my naked skin. It was cool, though not uncomfortably so. I raised myself slowly onto one elbow to look about me. I was lying near the edge of the roof of a building I judged to be three or four storeys high. The roof was flat and near me were two small flyers, which I immediately recognized from descriptions of them by John Carter.

The building upon which I lay, together with a number of smaller structures, was completely encircled by a wall some 25 feet high. Beyond the wall, in the near distance, was a level plain evidently under cultivation for it was green in colour and laid out in long rectangles. Beyond that began the ochre vegetation that covers most of Mars.

I experienced an overwhelming sense of elation. My life on Earth had been deteriorating to a state of boredom. Of one thing I was now certain: I would no longer be bored!

My adventure began almost at once when I was startled to see, from the corner of my eye, another flyer landing on the roof. Unlike the others, this machine was larger and enclosed with a cockpit. Shortly three men emerged from it. I was hidden from them behind one of the smaller craft, but was able to observe the newcomers. They seemed typical of the Red race of Martians described by John Carter and all were scantily clad in tunics, their leather harnesses bristling with weapons. All had black hair and coppery skin, with the exception of the taller man, whose skin was fairer than the others'.

They rapidly disappeared from sight, but I received a fleeting impression that the taller man was being led, like a blind man, toward the entrance door.

I thought about my predicament for awhile and concluded I had no choice but to follow the men. I reasoned that I was friendless, had no knowledge of the language, and could not have escaped from the roof easily, even knowing that Mars' low gravity would make me more nimble. Without a good deal of experimentation, however, it would be dangerous to try jumping. Besides, where would I then go? Gingerly, I rose to my feet and for some time had to concentrate on keeping them firmly on the ground.

The door, which was unlocked, opened to a downward-curving ramp which led to the next floor. I hesitated at the opening at the bottom, which led into a broad hallway. There was no one about, and an open door drew me, with caution, to peer inside. The room, hung all around with heavy draperies, contained a number of low platforms, heaped with tumbled furs and lengths of silk. A sleeping room, then. Further exploration revealed several similar rooms, all unoccupied.

I descended another ramp to the next level, finding more of the same. At the time, I concluded that if this were a house, it contained rather a large family! The reason later became obvious: the slaves of the household slept near their masters as protection.

I realized that I would be discovered momentarily, but kept on boldly in a carefree state of mind, quite unfamiliar, but oddly welcome to me.

I met someone on the next ramp. She was hurrying up toward me, looking at her feet. When she became aware of me she glanced up, reacting with such an incredulous expression that I couldn't help but smile. She turned and fled in terror, crying something loudly. Within moments the ramp seemed crowded with people, all women, who ordered, demanded and questioned in a tongue beautiful to hear, but utterly incomprehensible.

I think it was my passive appearance that eventually calmed them and finally one woman took charge. She hushed them all and turned to me. She asked me something slowly and clearly, but it might as well have been Chinese.

I replied politely "I don't understand a word you're saying."

My strange language set them jabbering in excitement again, which took the woman some moments to silence. She turned to them and apparently told them to go about their business, for quite soon I was alone on the ramp with my hostess.

She smiled at me and, taking my hand, led me up one level to one of the bedrooms. There she ducked behind an arras and reappeared holding a silky garment which she directed me to put on. I smiled and thanked her. She had to assist me with the short toga-like affair after I, with considerable puzzlement, turned it over several times to discover which way was up. The plain, tan-coloured garment was cinched with a wide soft leather belt.

She then stood me before a small mirror suspended from the ceiling and began to brush out my dishevelled hair. Even I, at that moment, found my appearance remarkable, as it most certainly was for my hostess who, I knew, would never have seen a red haired individual. Now freed of the encumbrance of trying to appear older with layers of ugly makeup, my face had transformed into one of glowing health. My ginger hair, now freed of its severe restraints, was an unruly tangle of waist length tresses which she fingered in awe, and brushed with long gentle strokes.

I was a seven-day wonder!

Literally – because within a week the novelty of my appearance wore off and I found myself little more than a slave in that household.

My master was a farmer whose name was Kam Or. His farm was one of several hundred similar ones surrounding and protected by the City of Ptarth. Most Barsoomian farmers are fairly well-to-do, and Kam Or maintained a large household for his sizable family which consisted of himself, his wife Forian, five sons and one daughter. It was the daughter, whose name was Kamia, whom I had first met on the ramp. She was young, just having achieved adulthood and, not having a personal maid, had beseeched her mother to assign me to the position.

Thus began my life on Barsoom.

In my long life on Earth I was proficient in languages, and my aptitude stood me now in good stead. Even so, as I learned Barsoomian speech, it seemed to come readily to my tongue, as if I had learned it long ago as a child and then forgotten. Within a ten-day Kamia had taught me sufficient of that ancient tongue to be able to converse readily. Within a few weeks I spoke it as one born to the planet.

There is little point in detailing the tedium of everyday life in a Barsoomian farmhouse. Perhaps it is enough to say that life is much the same everywhere. As a slave my day was long and revolved entirely about the mundane activities of my young mistress which, as can be imagined, were drearily dull. So much for adventures!

The events that followed, then, were a welcome, if somewhat hazardous, diversion.

One evening, about an hour or two after everyone had retired for the night, I lay tossing restlessly while sleep eluded me. Finally I rose and tiptoed out into the hall and down a ramp to seek a glass of water. I became aware of a flickering light descending the ramp below and, curious, silently followed. The glow eventually stopped at the cellar level. Curiosity drew me downward with care. The cellar was empty, except for piled storage containers, and only dimly lit by a single radium torch thrust into a bracket beside the doorway. Nonplussed, I hesitated, wondering which way to go. Someone had preceded me here carrying that torch, but had somehow vanished. As I was aware only of one exit up the ramp, he must have left the cellar by some means unknown to me and had left the torch intending to return.

Where could I hide in the event that he abruptly returned and found me where I should not be? There was a stack of containers in one corner and by moving one of them a little, I was able to wedge myself between it and the wall.

I had not long to wait. To my astonishment, a section of wall nearly opposite my hiding place, slid open and one of Kam Or's sons emerged. He passed his hand over part of the wall beside the door, whereupon it closed silently leaving no trace of its existence. He took up the torch and soon I was left in total darkness.

Here was a mystery! I paused only long enough to allow the torch light to flicker out of sight, then groped across the cellar to the place where I had seen the door. By a stroke of luck, I found the tiny knob that controlled the latch and in a moment the door again stood open. The gloom beyond was dimly illuminated by ancient radium bulbs. A long tunnel led downward, which I followed cautiously. At two points the tunnel diverged into others, but fresh footprints in age-old dust showed the way.

I soon came to a large chamber containing several heavily barred doors. I frowned. This looked like a dungeon. Was there a prisoner here? Gathering my dissolving courage, I called, "Is there anyone here?"

No answer. I moved farther into the room, and called again.

Then behind me I heard a shuffling sound. I whirled just as a hoarse voice growled, "Who is there? Who are you?" The speaker's face appeared behind the bars of one of the first cells I had passed.

I approached and said, "I am Lara, a slave in the household of Kam Or. Who are you? Why are you here in this terrible place?"

My concern seemed to ease him and he replied rather less brusquely, "You are not one of them?"

"No," I replied. "I accidentally discovered the cellar door which leads to these pits. How long have you been here?"

He replied wearily, "It has been difficult to keep count. As nearly as I can estimate, it is 200 days since I was abducted."

Abducted - two hundred days since! The same day I had arrived on Mars. And then I recalled the man who had been assisted from the flyer on the roof. I looked at the prisoner more closely. What I could see of his beardless face was drawn and gaunt, showing strong features and a mobile mouth. His eyes, however, were half closed, the skin around them showing they had been terribly injured.

I was standing directly in front of him, but his eyes did not focus upon me. He was blind.

It was that which compounded my horror at the man's plight. "How were you blinded?"

He nodded. "Acid. It was the only way they could have taken me. If I had seen them I would not be here." He clenched his teeth and gripped the bars as if throttling someone.

Overwhelmed with anger, I said, "I will help you", and placed my hand on his in an effort to convey my concern. With a motion too swift to comprehend, he had my wrist in a grip of steel, his other hand twisting my hair painfully. He pulled me roughly against the door and it was all I could do to keep from shrieking.

"Where is the key?" he growled.

I gasped, "I do not know, but I – if you will let me go I will try to find it. Kam Or's son may have it on his person. I said I would help you – I wish to escape also. And," I pointed out, "you could go nowhere without a guide . . ."

His grip hardened, and I sobbed, "Please! I want to help you!"

He released me abruptly. I fell to my knees sobbing, panting, and fighting to regain my composure.

He was silent for a time, then asked, "Are you hurt?"

My wrist burned and my scalp ached. "No," I lied.

In a moment he said, "I am sorry . . . you are correct of course. I am helpless this way."

"It is all right," I assured him. "I am surprised you are still sane after so long alone in this horrible place." I rose and went over to him again. "Now I must go. If I am to help you I must not be discovered here." I dared to place my hand on his again, and could see him struggling with his desperate need to flee.

After a long moment, gently this time, he took my hand and lightly placed his lips upon it. "I wish I could see you. Go quickly."

"Kaor," I whispered, and fled noiselessly back along the tunnel. I encountered no one while regaining my room, and once there sat on my bed to devise a plan for escape.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

It was difficult the next day to maintain an air of normality in the face of the knowledge that my master was a criminal of the very lowest sort. The day dragged out into the longest I had known, until finally the departing sun left the planet in sudden darkness.

I had only two alternatives to help the prisoner in the pits: either to obtain the key to his cell, or, failing that, to attempt to open the barred door by some other means, forceful or otherwise. About midnight, as in the night before, I silently crept down the ramps following the light of the radium torch held by Kam Or's son. Again I waited in the cellar and this time, when he emerged from the pits, I closely scrutinized his harness. As I had hoped, a large rusty key hung from one of its hooks. Somehow I must get that key.

Creeping back to my room I placed my few belongings and two thick sleeping robes into a light pack, stole food from the kitchen, and then waited a full two hours before going up to the next level where the family slept. I laid the pack on the floor in the corridor and entered the son's room. He was asleep on his platform, snoring loudly. His weapons belt lay near him on the floor, but he was wearing the harness, the key rising and falling at his waist when he breathed.

I was in a quandary. Dare I chance waking him? What would become of the prisoner – or me, for that matter! – if I were caught?

It was a terrible risk, but I took it.

I do not consider myself an especially brave person, but I think all of us have reserves of courage – or foolhardiness! – unsuspected until we test them. I crept forward, leant over the sleeping form, and unhooked the key. It was a simple as that.

But in my haste to flee, my foot collided with a dagger, which in turn clinked loudly against the pistol beside it.

The sleeper woke.

"Huh? Wha-? Who's there?" I stood in the darkness, unbreathing, not three meters away from him.

He listened for an eternity, then, clearing his throat and muttering to himself, settled back into his furs.

I stood there for so long, so absolutely still, that my legs began to ache. Eventually his regular breathing indicated he was again in deep slumber, and I retreated toward the door. Foolishly, perhaps, I reached down and with bated breath, picked up the heavy long sword in its sheath. Thus armed, I turned, took up the pack in the hallway, and sped quietly down to the cellar. In a state of near-panic, I fumbled about for the door catch. Ages seemed to pass before I found it and one can imagine with what relief I pressed it, and then swung that great door closed behind me.

I ran all the way to the cell room – full tilt into a huge ulsio, or Barsoomian rat, which was clawing and biting at the prisoner's cell door! The repulsive beast turned upon me, but by now my overwrought nerves had reached too fevered a pitch for me to regard the animal as anything more than an inconvenience. Pulling the heavy razor-sharp sword from its scabbard, I whirled the weapon high above my head and brought it down with enough momentum and accuracy to sever completely the beast's head from its body.

"Who is it? What has happened?" came the urgent voice of the prisoner.

"It is Lara", I panted, as I fumbled with the key. "I have just killed an ulsio". The lock was rusted and difficult to open and I had to save my breath for the effort. When at last the door creaked ajar, I said urgently, "Come – we must go –" and took the man's hand.

With a tug, he restrained my urgency by pulling me into the cell. "Wait!"

"Why?" I cried. "The key's disappearance may be discovered at any moment!"

"No!" he said. "We must have a plan!"

We stood there, stalemated. I forced myself into relative calmness, and acknowledged that he was right. Fortunately, so far, we had heard no sign of pursuit.

I studied him for a moment. He was at least fifteen centimeters taller than I, with black hair and skin lighter than the average Barsoomian. He was lean – far too thin from what must have been a starvation diet - but though he was physically diminished, his life force retained the brilliance of a dynamic personality.

"Yes," I said. "I'm sorry. We must certainly have a plan."

He made me sit on his sleeping platform, his sightless gaze earnest. "I have thought about this for a long time – in fact, of nothing else! We dare not risk the house for my stumbling steps would be certain to make a sound. Even if we did achieve the roof, I cannot fly a craft blind. Unless you can . . .? he asked hopefully.

I shook my head before recalling he could not see me. "No, regrettably I cannot fly."

"There remain, then, the tunnels."

"Tunnels?" I asked. "But we don't know where they lead . . ."

"I am certain we could find our way out by following the tunnels. While most of Barsoom's water is now carried in surface canals, in ancient times these underground tunnels, or channels, were constructed to carry irrigation water. Some, in fact, still exist and I believe we are near one now. On some nights I have heard a far-off whispering, as of water running. All along the channels there are maintenance buildings which connect to the surface, and we would be certain to find one if we followed the water."

"It seems to be as good a plan as any," I said, standing. "Let us begin immediately. Daylight will not make these passages any brighter."

His mouth tightened. Even broad daylight would be darkness for him.

I took his hand in mine. It was a strong one, the fingers long and sensitive. "What is your name?" I asked.

"Carthan," he replied.

We left the cell and began our trek following the nearest corridor away from the home of Kam Or. We may have been the strangest pair of humans ever to walk beneath the crust of dying Mars. Blind Carthan, all but helpless, led by a woman from another world whose very appearance would excite attention. However, for the latter contingency I had come prepared, having brought with me two phials of dye – a black one for my hair; and the other a copper pigment which my young mistress used as a cosmetic to hide blemishes. I resolved that at the first opportunity I would apply the pigments to disguise my very foreign appearance.

The tunnel I chose sloped gradually downward, occasionally dividing itself into other corridors, making choices difficult. I solved the problem by selecting the corridors leading to the right, and by some stroke of luck my decisions proved correct for we could hear ahead of us a steadily-increasing sound of rushing water. A few more turns brought us to a place where a small stream flowed adjacent to our route and then disappeared into a culvert. I described the scene to Carthan and he assured me that the channel we sought would be much larger.

Quenching our thirst, we then continued on. Within a short time we found ourselves in inky darkness, and I berated myself for not bringing the torch. Now I was as helpless as Carthan. Both of us crept along holding hands, while with our free hands we felt our way along the narrowing tunnel walls. This nerve-wracking ordeal continued for what seemed hours. Nearing exhaustion, we stumbled onward, and I, at least, was ready to give up in despair. I cannot imagine what it was like for Carthan, blind and completely dependent upon a stranger

Then I spotted, far ahead, a faint glow. "Light!" I whispered. I gripped Carthan's hand more tightly, our spirits rose, and we managed to shuffle a little faster.

The glow increased in intensity, until abruptly we came upon the entrance to a huge cavern at least a hundred meters across, the ceiling lost in gloom. It was dimly illuminated by some phosphorescent mineral contained in the rock. At first glance I thought the cave was empty, but as my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized it was not. The place appeared to be a resting site for the ulsios which inhabited these underground places. The entire floor area seemed to be covered by their sleeping bodies!

My heart sinking, I told Carthan what I saw.

"Issus! Would I had my eyes."

I studied the scene for a time, and then asked, "Do they hunt by scent?"

Carthan cocked his head, as if puzzled that I didn't know. "No, but they have remarkable eyesight that permits them to hunt in the darkest places. They have no sense of smell."

"Good," I said. "Then we may yet have a chance." I briefly outlined my idea, and when he began to object to it, I told him I'd go on alone because we really had no other choice. He smiled grimly, and shrugged. "Then lead on, my lady, and may our ancestors – and that sword – protect us!"


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

It was unbelievably perilous. Looking back, I wonder at my rashness. Even now I shudder at what could have happened – and nearly did. Clutching the long sword in two hands, with Carthan walking exactly behind me gripping my belt, we threaded our way gingerly in and around the recumbent family groups of ulsios. We were two-thirds of the way across when I saw a big male stir and stretch. He never knew what hit him. Before he could open an eye, I had run him through without a sound. Carthan waited patiently, gripping my shoulders to steady me until I stopped shaking and was able to resume. We never spoke of that terrible moment.

Somehow we picked our way through the remaining congregation of ulsios and lost no time in plunging down the nearest tunnel. The sound of rushing water was thunderous now and before we had gone a hundred metres farther, we reached the subterranean river.

I found a ledge about head-high which would keep us safe from roaming ulsios, and easily sprang up. I reached a hand down to guide Carthan as he nimbly climbed the rock. Wrapping ourselves in the silks against the chill, we both sank into the deep sleep of exhaustion.

Some hours later I woke before Carthan and dropped down to the river's edge to wash. I also applied the black dye to my hair as best I could, having only a tiny pocket mirror to guide me; and then applied the copper pigment to my body. Only a certain combination of chemicals could remove either, so I felt secure for the time being.

I jumped back onto the ledge to find Carthan awake and wearing a very worried expression. One can imagine his feelings on waking to find me gone. I suggested he refresh himself, and helped him down.

Following a dismally inadequate breakfast of journey bread and dried fruit, we resumed our trek downstream because the passage seemed easier that way. Nonetheless it was still hazardous, the footing in places consisting of loose rock, and our progress was slow indeed. At one point when Carthan slipped and nearly pulled both of us into the river, he begged me to go on without him. Of course, that was nonsense, as I informed him severely, and he said no more. Thus far he had borne with stoicism my enforced role as guide dog,and it must have galled his pride to be so helpless. I had never known a braver man.

I will not describe the endless laborious hours and days that followed, but eventually there came a time when the long-sought exit portal was there before us, and all we had to do was push it open. In a moment, we stood inside the ancient building where the the age-old pumps sat rusting into the ground. With effort, together we heaved the ponderous exterior door ajar and stood in the clear, thin air of Barsoom, gazing at a great fallow field stretching to the northern horizon. The sun was just setting, and while we stood breathing in the sweet air of freedom, the light disappeared and the stars came out, all at once.

Rapt, I failed to notice that the heavy door had swung shut behind us. With the air cooling rapidly, we turned to go back inside but were unable to open the closely fitting portal. I could discover no other way in, so we lay close to each other next to the building, wrapped together in the thermal silks for protection against Barsoom's deadly night. I lay awake shivering in the cold until the heat of Carthan's body began to penetrate and warm me. It was the first time that the necessities of survival had permitted me to think of him as a man, rather than a victim. Comforted beyond reason by his encircling arms, I slid into a deep sleep

We both woke at sunrise – I from the glare in my eyes, Carthan from long habit. "Well, my lady, what now?" he asked.

I leant back against a wall to think. Finally I said, "As I see it, Carthan, we have but one choice, and that is to make our way to Duhor."

"Is that your birthplace?"

"No, I know no one there. I do not even know in which direction it lies. I only know that there we can find help."

Puzzled, he said, "Find help . . .?"

"Vad Varo, the surgeon, lives there. He will give you new eyes," I added with far more confidence than I felt.

I think the possibility of regaining his vision had not even occurred to Carthan, and he sat up. "Vad Varo, the Jasoomian! If only I could believe that . . ." Hope now replaced despair in his poor ruined eyes. "You would do this for me?"

"Well," I said lightly, "If I don't, I suppose I'll have to lead you about the rest of my life."

He smiled – a vivid, charming smile – and murmured enigmatically, "No, that wouldn't do at all, would it?"

We discussed our next move and concluded we would follow the cultivated area eastward, as that was the general direction in which Carthan knew Duhor lay. We hoped somehow to procure a flyer, but at the moment were at a loss to know how that could be accomplished.

As we walked, I asked Carthan to describe the workings of a flyer and his descriptions and instructions were thereupon so thorough that I felt I could almost take one apart and reassemble it.

Late that day I glimpsed the outlines of a large habitation about two kilometres ahead. Stealth being the watchword, we waited until dusk before progressing farther. It was well we did so, for, to my dismay, I recognized the farm buildings as none other than those of Kam Or! I nearly wept with frustration, but Carthan consoled me by pointing out the ironic humour of the situation: our perilous labours had led us full circle back to where we had begun.

We held a council of war, and it became evident that we – or rather I – had no option but to somehow gain entry and steal a flyer.

I bade Carthan remain where he was behind an out building, and slowly began to circle the wall. At one point its top was only 15 feet from the ground. I had not tried jumping that distance, but I knew my earthly muscles were capable of superhuman feats in the lower gravity. I began practicing then and there, higher and higher, until I found I could spring to the top of the wall with ease. No one appeared to have seen me, so I lightly landed in the courtyard. Gripping the long sword more firmly, I made my way to the entrance door to the main house. Easing it open on silent hinges, I crept within and commenced to climb the familiar ramps to the roof.

Luck was with me until I reached the roof, then abruptly deserted me. Just as the latch of the roof door clicked behind me, one of Kam Or's sons appeared before me, as startled as I. He studied me for several seconds, trying to identify me, before asking gruffly, "Who are you? What are you doing up here?"

I thought rapidly, knowing slaves were not allowed on the roof. I could try to bluff my way out, but on the other hand I could very easily be taken prisoner. Acting on impulse before he could react, I swung the long sword in both hands and gave him a stunning blow on the side of his head with the flat of the blade. He fell like a rock and I stood staring down at him, scarcely comprehending my own strength. Fortunately, he still breathed.

Muttering a quick thanks that I had not killed him, I sprang to one of the smaller flyers. Puzzling only momentarily over the controls, I soon recalled the procedure and in seconds the machine rose feather-like into the air. Enthralled, I manipulated the lever that controlled turns, but moved it too far. The flyer tipped so far to one side that I would have fallen had it not been for the safety harness. As it was, the long sword fell clattering to the roof.

A fine predicament! If I returned for it I'd risk discovery. If I fled without it Carthan and I would risk days without a weapon. Resentfully, I mused that no one should have to make such a decision. With grim determination, but fortune smiling upon me the while, I made an unpracticed, rather rough landing, scooped up the sword, and took off, all without detection. Shortly I landed behind the outbuilding near Carthan. He heard the faint hum of the machine, but did not venture forth until I called him softly. He climbed aboard, clipping his harness to the seat. We rose rapidly into the now-starry sky and setting the destination compass upon Duhor, we settled down for the journey.

The city of Duhor lies some 1500 km east of Ptarth. The route we had to follow crossed some of the wildest terrain on the planet where the last of the mighty oceans that once covered half of Mars still existed vestigally in the form of a huge swamp consisting of dense forests of sorapus and mantalia. These forests have been described in the writings of my predecessor, Ulysses Paxton.

Carthan and I had gone some three days with little food, and though we might have managed another three without it, we did require water. The mantalia plant is a source of a most nourishing milk. We had been in the air half a day and were passing over a less-dense part of the forest when we decided to land.

If I had been alone, what followed could have been avoided by my sheer speed, but Carthan had to leave the flier to drink from the mantalia I had slashed open. Just as he finished drinking, I looked about for the tenth time and saw charging down upon us, a huge white ape.

"_My god!_" I whispered in horror, reverting to English. Grabbing Carthan's hand I frantically pulled him toward the flyer. He tripped and sprawled headlong.

The huge beast, fully 6 meters high and bellowing belligerently, roared upon us like an express train. I had no choice but to stand my ground while Carthan lay cursing his helplessness and begging me to save myself.

My extraordinary agility in the low gravity saved our lives. I sprang sideways, swinging the long sword, and severed one of the ape's four hands, thus drawing his attention away from the vulnerable Carthan and toward me. The beast, slavering with fury and pain, charged me again, and once again I leaped past him slicing at his head and giving him a severe scalp wound. The pain drove him to a frenzy and as he charged again, I hopped out of his reach. Weakening with the effort of wielding the heavy sword, I knew I had to dispatch the animal soon, but had no idea where to find his heart. On the fourth pass, a lucky swipe at his nearly non-existent neck found an artery which immediately spurted enormous quantities of green blood.

That slowed him, but he came at me again, this time more cautiously. I backed, and backed – and tripped. From flat on my back I watched, as if in slow motion, as the monstrous creature loomed over me, growling triumphantly. With enormous effort I raised the sword. The ape bellowed, and fell full upon me, driving the air out of my lungs. When his huge hulk struck me and settled across my body, I somehow remained conscious, gasping for breath. Now helpless, I waited for death.

An eternity seemed to pass while I fought to breathe, and then felt the ape move. Agonizing minutes crept by – and then I realized its bulk was being slowly and laboriously _dragged_ away from me. Dimly I felt Carthan's hands move over my body feeling for a pulse. He then eased me into his arms where I lay recovering my wits – wishing I'd never need to move again. He called me, deep concern in every syllable: "Lara, Lara – are you hurt?"

"No . . ." I croaked, and cleared my throat. "No, I don't think so. At least, there is no pain."

"Thanks be to your ancestors," he breathed. "I groped toward the place from which I heard the last sounds of battle. I discovered the ape lying dead, but it was with difficulty that I found you partly beneath it, your long sword thrust through his heart. I thought you must have died. How did you . . .?" Unable to continue, his face revealed the horror of those moments when he knew not if I were dead or alive. His own predicament would have meant his death if I had died, but I knew he had given no thought to himself.

I sat up, somewhat dazed, but recovering rapidly. Then I was startled, on looking down at myself, to find my body covered with blood – green blood! I was grateful at that moment that Carthan could not see me. Pleading need, I left him for a few moments to try to remove the blood in a nearby spring. The stuff was stubborn, having dried on my clothing and skin, and my attempts were largely futile. Returning somewhat refreshed, but still sticky and uncomfortable, I took Carthan's hand and trudged with weary steps to the flyer. We strapped ourselves in, rose into the late evening sky, set the destination compass, and slept the sleep of exhaustion.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

The flyer's proximity alarm woke us just after dawn. Apparently we had arrived at our destination before dawn and the machine had stationed itself some 300 meters above the city's wall awaiting instructions. We had remained undiscovered in the darkness, but with the rising sun a patrol ship spotted us. Its presence within a few dozen meters had set off the alarm.

Suddenly wide awake, I sat up to find a young officer looking down at us in consternation from the deck of his patrol ship. As well he might! My appearance was anything but prepossessing, covered in green blood as I was. I clamped down upon an impulse to laugh, and tried to achieve some sort of composure.

"We are from Ptarth and we have come to see Vad Varo, the husband of Valla Dia, your Princess."

"I require to see your papers."

"We have none," I answered.

"Then you will have to come with me for interrogation. Follow my ship."

I chafed at the delay, but submitted willingly enough, hoping that by cooperating we would soon achieve our goal.

It was not to be.

Without papers we were regarded as spies, and no amount of expostulation persuaded our captors otherwise. We were placed in guarded cells in an administration building with the explanation that our stories were being checked. I knew there was no hope for me, for my story would not hold water; but I had hope for Carthan, though I had not been present at his interrogation. I realized I knew nothing about Carthan, though I recalled that he said he was from Ptarth. Beyond that we had never discussed our personal backgrounds.

My guard was a wardress of heroic size who had, later that day, taken me to a bathing room to wash off the great ape's blood. When I related the escapade with the great ape, she immediately warmed to me – a fellow warrior after her own heart. I ventured to ask, "What has become of my companion?"

"The blind man?"

I nodded.

"Oh, he is still upstairs."

"He has not been released?"

"No. Like you, he told such a fantastic tale that no one believed him."

I absorbed that in silence. We might remain here for weeks, perhaps months, unless we had help. In all of Duhor only one man could do so. It was up to me to reach Vad Varo. Realizing by this time that surprise was often more effective, I could see no point in delay and didn't hesitate, With a pang of regret – she _had_ been kind to me – I suddenly sprang upon my unsuspecting guard and gave her a hard karate chop behind her ear, whereupon she slumped to the floor unconscious. She was not carrying a long sword, which I would have preferred, but she had a short sword which I strapped to my harness. I stepped through the unlocked door into the passageway, and walked boldly down three ramps expecting momentarily to be confronted. It was not until I reached the wide entry hall at street level that I encountered anyone. A burly guard ordered me peremptorily to halt.

The man strutted forward with menace, demanding my surrender. I laughed at him, daring him to come and take me, and presenting my short sword e_n garde_. He must have been a particularly unscrupulous individual because as a rule Barsoomian men do not fight women. The depths of his iniquity became apparent when he drew his long sword against my short sword.

I have learned many self-defence strategies in my long lifetime. Inspired by John Carter's narratives, I once took up fencing, and became so proficient that my instructor urged me to enter the Olympics, where I earned a medal for my country. This however, would be the first time I'd had to fence for my life.

When we engaged, I found my opponent to be brash, lacking in science, and erratic as a consequence. Even though he had the advantage of me in weight and reach I was soon able to do as I pleased with him because of my enhanced speed. In fact, I might have enjoyed the contest had I not been in a hurry. At the first opportunity, I ran him through the shoulder of his sword arm, leaving my weapon so embedded. Leisurely, I strolled out into the streets of Duhor, closing the door carefully behind me while he screamed for assistance.

I had no difficulty spotting the royal palace where its towers thrust proudly toward the sky, but finding my way through the labyrinthine streets proved more difficult and I had to ask the way several times. Further inquiry led me to a building adjacent to the palace where Vad Varo carried on his practice as Barsoom's most famous surgeon. I had to wait a long time to see him.

When at last I was ushered into his office by an attendant, I sank down gratefully and studied my compatriot. He must have been nearing 90 in Earth years, but he looked no more than 30. His fair skin brought a pang of nostalgia, and I smiled.

He studied me curiously but did not penetrate my disguise, even though some of the dye had been unevenly applied and was blotched from my exertions.

I said in English, "I wonder if you can possibly imagine how happy I am to meet you, Ulysses Paxton."

His eyes widened in shock, but he was quick and a wondering smile spread across his face. He nodded slowly. "So – we have a girl come to join the ranks. Welcome to Mars! How long have you been here?"

"Almost six months," I replied. Briefly I described my arrival and experiences in the house of Kam Or, and added: "But I am not here for myself, but for a friend whom I aided in escaping from Kam Or. He is blind and I come to seek your help. He is being held in the administration building."

"What do you wish me to do?"

"Have him released, perhaps to your custody? And . . ." I hesitated ". . . give him new eyes?"

He nodded as if I had asked for two aspirins. "I'll do what I can for him. What is his name?"

"Carthan."

"Carthan!" He came upright in his chair in amazement.

"Do you know him?" I asked, startled by his reaction.

"Of course. He is a very fine young man. And a great warrior, as are his father and his grandfather."

I said, "He hasn't had much chance to prove it these past two weeks." I went on to describe our recent escapades, while my host, eyes narrowed, took it all in. "Carthan must be indeed grateful to you," he commented.

I gritted my teeth against a sob. "Damn it! I don't want his gratitude. It's all wrong," and began to weep, scarcely knowing why.

I think Vad Varo knew why. He let the storm of pent-up emotion spend itself, and passed me a tissue for my tears.

I said, "He must be humiliated after being so dependent upon me. I think it would be best for both of us if I left Duhor. Is there any possibility of my borrowing a flyer?"

"Of course," he said, "if you must. Though Carthan might not agree . . ."

"I'll not give him the choice," I said.

He gave me a long speculative look, then shrugged. "Very well. I can provide you with papers and give you a letter of introduction to John Carter and his family."

"Thank you, but I would not like to accept the hospitality of strangers merely because I am from Earth. I must make my own way on Barsoom." Then I made him swear that he would not reveal my origins to Carthan.

He tried to argue, but I was adamant. He did persuade me, however, to accept his hospitality for the night. I agreed only to stay in his surgery, on the condition I would not encounter Carthan again.

Vad Varo and I reminisced about our lives on Earth for a few minutes only, as he had patients waiting. His attendant led me to an empty room on an upper floor, where I collapsed on the platform and cried myself to sleep.

Next morning I left for Ptarth in Vad Varo's flyer, leaving Kam Or's ship for Carthan.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Once again I must gloss over the details of my life that are irrelevant to this story. I had no difficulty entering Ptarth with Vad Varo's papers. I landed in a public hangar, gave the attendant the name of the man who would return the flyer to Vad Varo, and asked direction to the nearest women's hostel.

Having settled in, I began to look for work. As on Earth, free Barsoomian women – at least those within the bailiwick of the Warlord and his son Carthoris - are engaged in various industries, among them manufacture, food preparation, and commerce. Though I had an aptitude for teaching, I knew I was not sufficiently versed in the language to seek work as a teacher, but I could and did qualify as an _au pair_, and obtained a positiion with ease. Children are the same everywhere, and I thoroughly enjoyed my duties in a Ptarthian household.

While the memory of those days spent with Carthan remained fresh, an earthly year passed uneventfully and with relative contentment. However, my ever-varying lifestyle on Earth had given me a unquenchable thirst for new experiences and the urge for change could not be ignored. Perhaps it was a need to improve my situation. Perhaps it was fate. Or, perhaps, something else that I refused to acknowledge. In any case, I left the family with regrets on both sides and went seeking another position.

Thanks to John Carter, the great palaces of Ptarth and the twin Heliums no longer use slaves for menial tasks, but employ servants at a wage. Such positions are greatly coveted by the lower classes so it was with difficulty that I found work in the palace of Carthoris of Helium and his wife Thuvia of Ptarth. I was employed as a hairdresser for the many women of various classes and occupations who lived there permanently, that having been one of my many professions on Earth.

I had not been there two days before I learned from the ubiquitous gossip common in women's gathering places that Carthan was the son of Carthoris and Thuvia – the grandson of John Carter! Vad Varo must have assumed that I knew.

My first impulse was to flee – immediately! – but then I reasoned that Carthan had never seen me. He might recognize my voice, but it was unlikely we would ever speak – or even meet. He might discover that the palace employed a servant named Lara, but mine was not an uncommon name. Thus I rationalized my decision to stay, if only to catch a glimpse of him now and then; to make certain – of course – that he was all right.

Carthan was in Helium when I commenced my employment in his parents' palace, so it was many weeks before I saw him. I was completely unprepared when it happened.

My friend Vinia and I were walking briskly up a ramp toward the palace when two men, deep in conversation, began to descend. One was Carthoris, whom I recognized. The other was his son. . .

My last recollection of Carthan was when we were taken into custody following our arrival in Duhor. Then, he had been exhausted and emaciated, face gaunt and scarred, hair long and filthy from neglect – a pitiful shadow of the man who now strode toward me.

Carthan wore a short black leather tunic cinched with an intricately tooled belt, his broad chest crossed with a bejeweled harness bearing two gleaming swords, a dagger and a pistol. His eyes snapping with intelligence, muscles rippling with energy, and weapons at the ready, Carthan would be perceived by an enemy as the epitomy of deadly menace

I had known many men in my century of life. Relationships had come and gone; some ended with relief, some with regret, and one or two with grief. But I had never before known a man who had exuded the sheer potency of _this_ man.

He was magnificent

My feet faltered from shock at the change in him, and Vinia and Carthan, who was nearest of the two men, grabbed my arms to keep me from falling. I thought fleetingly with disgust that I was _not_ some swooning Victorian maiden, and then nearly laughed aloud at the truth of it. I struggled hard to bring order to my chaotic emotions, while my traitorous skin tingled beneath his touch.

"Are you all right?" he asked. I recalled the last time he'd asked me that when I was lying in his arms, a Great White Ape dead nearby. It was a jolting reminder of why I had fled from him. I collected myself and staightened to regain my balance.

Afraid to speak lest he recognize my voice, I nodded dumbly. His questing eyes – luminous and _healed_ - seemed to read my soul. Fortunately, Martians cannot read Earthly minds!

He shrugged, and then released my arm. No doubt accustomed to speechless females, he merely smiled and passed on.

"You tripped on purpose," Vinia teased.

"No! I – I just tripped. I was , , , surprised."

"'Just tripped,'" she said derisively. "It looked purposeful to me." Then she looked at me with suspicion. "Do you know Carthan?"

"Did he know _me_?' I parried.

"No. But why should you be so surprised when you see him that you can't stand on your own two feet?"

"It was an accident," I insisted, growing impatient with her questions.

Vinia shrugged and let it go, but the incident soon became the subject for gossip by my colleagues in the salon, and I was teased unmercifully for "throwing myself at Carthan." I tried to take the teasing in good part, but was concerned that somehow Carthan would discover my name linked with his. However, days passed and when nothing came of it, I breathed more easily.

It was at that time I learned that the prince had made it clear to the eligible young ladies of Ptarth that he was unattainable, his heart being otherwise engaged. Who, I wondered with a pang, was the lucky creature?

The resident servants had a small garden which was adjacent to that used by the Prince and Princess, though separated by a head-high wall, and I made it a habit to walk there every evening. The garden was patrolled for safety by calots, or Martian hounds. These animals had been domesticated from a wild strain to serve as watch dogs. Truly their very appearance is enough to discourage a would-be thief or assassin, for the calot is as large as a shetland pony, having a fierce visage split by a monstrous ear-to-ear mouth. The teeth within are razor-sharp spikes and its ten legs give the animal enormous speed.

One evening on my walk, I was perhaps 30 meters from the building when I heard a low growl in the bushes to my right. The bushes shook violently, and I saw, creeping toward me, one of the calots, foam dripping from his mouth, crazed, and utterly deadly.

Weaponless, I tried to calm the animal. "Stay," I commanded repeatedly, my voice rising to a scream, while backing as quickly as I dared toward the entrance. He charged, roaring ferociously. I caught his headlong rush on my left arm, which his razor teeth slashed from shoulder to wrist. Shrieking, I fell backwards, striking my head on a skeel garden seat, and sank into merciful unconsciousness.

What followed then was related to me by another:

Carthan was strolling that night also, marvelling as always at the night sky, and thanking his ancestors for the thousandth time for his eyesight. His gaze rested on a brilliant blue planet swimming low in the west, and he thought again about the woman he had never seen who had saved his life not once, but many times. She had seemed to have a fascination for Jasoom. Vad Varo had attempted to describe her appearance without much success. How then could he, Carthan, recognize her even if she stood before him?

Thus were Carthan's thoughts engaged when he heard a low growl coming from the adjacent servant's garden. and then a woman's urgent order to _stay_. When he heard her scream, he leapt to the wall, drawing his pistol. What he saw made him abandon the pistol for his dagger: a rabid calot stood snarling over a woman's unconscious form. Carthan sprinted the meters between, leapt to the beast's back, and plunged his dagger again and again into its side.

When the animal ceased to breath, Carthan turned to me, immediately recognizing me as as the one who had tripped – deliberately? – on the ramp the other day. Though unconscious, I was breathing normally, but my arm was in shreds. Gently raising me, he carried me to his mother's apartments, calling "Thuvia, come quickly!"

Thuvia responded at once, crying out in alarm. "Issus! What happened?"

"She was mauled by a crazed calot and appears to have struck her head hard on a garden bench when she fell."

Thuvia applied some of the marvellous healing ointment to my arm and made me comfortable on a sleeping platform in a spare room. But there was nothing they could do for the concussion, except wait.

My arm healed quickly with scarcely a scar, but I lay unconscious for three weeks. A number of interesting things occurred in that time.

Carthan came to visit me daily, unnecessarily perhaps, reasoning that he ought to take a personal interest in the woman whose life he had saved. On the day following the events in the garden, he and Thuvia stood over my too-still form wondering when, if ever, I would awaken. He asked, "Do you know anything about her?"

His mother replied, "Of course. She is the hairdresser – and a very good one. Her name is Lara."

Carthan was thunderstruck. "Lara! Thuvia, that is the name of the woman who helped me escape from Kam Or at great personal risk, and – gods!" he shook his head at the memory "– killed a great white ape while I lay helpless. It was she, too, who took me to Vad Varo to be healed."

Thuvia gazed down at me reflectively, "Is she the same woman?"

Carthan ssid, "I don't know. I never saw her. And it's not an uncommon name. But I would know her voice anywhere."

"Hm," murmured Thuvia. "Then clearly we will have to wait until she can speak."

About a week later a servant rushed to Thuvia to report that something terrible was happening to my skin. Thuvia hurried to my side and regarded my appearance with horror. My "copper" skin was covered in great white blotches. Then, worldly woman that she was, she was struck by the realization that the opposite was true – the copper was not normal and the fair skin was. She hurried away, returning in minutes with a cosmetic concoction. She tested it on a red patch on my inner arm and, before the startled gaze of the servant, the pigment came away, revealing smooth unblemished pink flesh.

The two worked for an hour, exposing my normal complexion. "Are you Thern?" Thuvia mused aloud. On an impulse, she seized a strand of my hair and pulled hard. If I were a Thern in disguise, the hair would come away as a wig. She laid the well-attached strand back on the pillow with an apologetic sniff, but then looked more closely at my scalp. Usually, I had to apply the black hair dye every week to cover new growth. It was now more than two weeks after the last application and she could see the lighter hair growing out.

Thuvia washed my hair, employing another chemical to remove the dye. When she was done, some two hours later, she summoned Carthan.

"My son," she said, grinning broadly as she led him to my room, "there is something you need to see . . ."

Carthan stood riveted as he stared at my fair skin and copper hair gleaming on the silken sheet. "By the great apes, mother!" he breathed. "What have you done to her?"

"It is her natural colouring. She utilized the same dyes that John Carter did many years ago to disguise his appearance. And she is not Thern. The hair is her own."

Carthan moved closer, putting out a tentative hand to finger my hair. "What a colour! It scarcely seems real . . ." He stared at his mother while realization dawned. "Jasoom?"

"John Carter told me once that there are many colours of hair on Jasoom. Red is one of them, but quite rare. And", she added, "occasionally she raves deliriously in some foreign tongue. Since all Barsoom speaks one language, where else could she have come from?" She added, "Carthan, John Carter will be here in a few days. Perhaps he could enlighten us."

The Warlord arrived several days later. On the second day of his visit, Thuvia mentioned the strange woman who still lay in a coma. "I think you should see her. Perhaps you can help us with a problem."

Curious, John Carter followed Thuvia and Carthan into my room, where he drew up in surprise, and exclaimed, "That is not the colour of a Thern's wig."

Thuvia said, "It is her own hair. We thought she might be one of your fellow Jasoomians." She held up a hand. "Listen! She's saying something . . ."

John Carter drew closer and bent over me. He has never told me what I was raving about, but it was sufficient to identify it as English. He straightened. "She is speaking one of the languages of Jasoom," he affirmed. And then mused, "There is no reason why a woman should not cross too . . . Do you know her name?"

"Lara," said Carthan. "That is the name of the woman who saved me from the clutches of Kam Or, but I can't be certain until she speaks – or confirms it herself – because I never saw her."

"Remarkable!" said John Carter, who knew Carthan's story. With a penetraing look, he said to Carthan. "To your knowledge, did she display any extraordinary abilities?"

"If leaping over walls and killing ulsios and great white apes can be considered extraordinary abilities, then she most certainly did." Carthan said with a grim smile. "She is as far from ordinary as – as _you_ are!"

Something in Carthan's face prompted John Carter to ask, "Do you love her?"

Mute, Carthan met his grandfather's eyes and nodded.

John Carter gripped Carthan's shoulder "If she is the same woman, she has high courage and would be worthy of a prince. Win her, my grandson. She is a prize beyond the dreams of most men, like my own beloved Dejah Thoris."

Carthan said bitterly, "She is already beyond mine. She saved my life ten times over, and then left without farewell. How can I hope to win her when my debt is already so great and she cares nothing for me?"

John Carter shook his head and smiled, "You have made a good start by saving her from the calot. And, frankly, Carthan, Jasoomian women do not expect to be won by violence, nor," he added with a rueful grin, "do they give any credence to a man's pride when it stands in the way."

Grimacing, Carthan pointed out bluntly, "She is no longer on Jasoom."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Meantime, in Ptarth, when it was learned that neither Thuvia nor I could be found in the palace and the calot corpses were discovered in the garden, it was not difficult for Carthan to conclude that we had been abducted by the same audacious thieves who had spirited away hundreds of Ptarthians over the last few years. Nothing had ever been discovered about the pirates' whereabouts – only that their craft had flown directly westward after the deed had been done. It was in that direction that all search efforts had been, and still were, concentrated.

Carthan's initial conclusion was that Kam Or had been somehow involved. He sent a squad to arrest the man and search his house, and after interrogation (I never wanted to know how), Kam Or admitted to taking Carthan hostage for ransom only, and that he had nothing to do with Kolla or his schemes. Kam Or also admitted, when questioned about the unusual length of time that Carthan had been held, that he had delayed submitting a ransom note to Carthoris, the son of the Warlord, out of sheer cowardice.

At a dead end, Carthan spent hours considering the circumstances surrounding the kidnappings. He concluded that if he were a pirate attempting to avoid pursuit, he would fly in the opposite direction from which his actual base lay.

Carthan flew east. He flew very high, searching the ground for anything unusual, but daily flights over the next few weeks revealed nothing. Stubbornly, knowing he must be right, he continued his grid-search of the mountainous territory west of the city. Then, only a few days before the third Games, he was cruising directly over Kolla's installation when, by a fortuitous stroke of luck, he spotted one of Kolla's flyers departing from the hidden entrance. Casting caution to the winds, Carthan dropped his ship to investigate, and flew directly into the hanger. He was immediately taken prisoner.

He discovered, as I had, that his inherited earthly mind was unaffected by Kolla's spell. It gave him an enormous advantage as he could place himself in any position of authority and maneuvre events to suit his plans. At first he considered joining Kolla's bodyguards with the intention of killing the tyrant immediately, but decided that the deed had to done in the presence of as many of Kolla's victims as possible.

Impatient as he was, Carthan entered himself into the Games, and waited.

Kolla's Great Games were held for his pleasure every month. I had seen two of them thus far, and it pains me to recall them. Where in most cities on Mars, the Great Games are held as an exhibition of prowess, Kolla's games were battles to the death. I watched many brave men die in that cavernous amphitheatre. I think, that under Kolla's spells, they thought their pitiful contests were great battles, and perhaps gloried in their deaths. Nonetheless, they died uselessly, and I can never forget it.

The third Games of my sojourn were held before the entire population of the cave kingdom, excepting the living statues of whom Thuvia was still one. The events included contests of strength, of men versus beasts,and of skill with the long sword. Kolla particularly enjoyed the latter, which consisted of sixteen men who paired off and fought to the death. The eight winners of the first round paired off similarly and eventually only two were left to fight among the fourteen dead. Kolla magnanimously allowed the winner to live, serving as a bodyguard.

As I watched the last two men, their exhaustion evident as they rested momentarily on their swords, it dawned on me that one of them was familiar. I had paid little attention to the competition because of my horror of the event, but now studied the man who, like his opponent, had just killed three men. He stood calmly, his demeanor confident, sword point on the ground, and closely searching faces in the crowd as if seeking someone.

It was Carthan.

No doubt he was looking for Thuvia. My thoughts whirled. Could I somehow attract his attention? Thuvia had told me that he had seen my comatose form after the dyes had been removed. Surely he would recognize me.

I was seated in Kolla's box, slightly behind the huge bulk of the hypnotist. I quickly released my tightly-confined hair to make it more visible. When his eyes turned toward us, I stood up, shook out the mass which fell to my waist, and looked directly at him before bending over as if to adjust my cushion. When I sat down again, I saw him smile in recognition – he could hardly have missed me! – and then salute me with a grand gesture of his sword, hilt to forehead,

Believing the salute had been meant for him, Kolla graciously waved for the contest to begin. The fight could only have one winner, and Carthan was one of the three best swordsmen on the planet, but before I could even begin to worry about the outcome, his opponent lay dead at his feet.

What happened next occurred far more rapidly than it takes to tell. Carthan pivoted after the death lunge and sprinted straight for the box where Kolla and we, his handmaidens, sat. Aided by his inherited Earthly muscles, Carthan vaulted the barrier at the front of the box, and with deadly accuracy, drove his sword through the heart of the hypnotist.

He turned swiftly toward me, taking my hand. "Are you all right, Lara?"

I nodded, but before I could say anything, he said, "Please remain here where I can find you." He then leapt back into the arena, while Kolla's ponderous body slumped, dead, in his chair, and his dumbfounded guards stared at it in disbelief.

Pandemonium ruled. The 1500-odd spectators and competitors had been abruptly released from Kolla's spell upon witnessing his death. The arena erupted in shouts and utter confusion. Carthan raced back to the midst of the carnage on the arena floor where, miraculously it seemed, the fifteen "dead" men rose to their feet. Gathering before Carthan, they flung their swords at his feet. He returned each sword to its owner, indicating acceptance of each man's fealty. These events had not gone unnoticed by the crowd, which had calmed and quieted in wonder. He turned to them and raised both arms, his sword flashing high above his head.

"Kolla is dead!" he shouted. "Long live his prisoners!"

A thunderous ovation threatened to bring down the roof. After a long moment, Carthan raised his arms again for silence. "Most of you are citizens of Ptarth. Know then that Thuvia, your princess, daughter of Thuvan Dihn, Jeddak of Ptarth, is among you, a captive like yourselves. Know also that I am her son."

A wondering murmur swept through the listeners. A few took up a cry, which in seconds was shouted by all. "Long live Carthan! Long live Carthan!"

This time it was some time before order was restored. Carthan let them release their pent-up emotion, and like a born orator, seized the right moment to call for silence. He spoke almost softly, but his voice carried to the farthest corners.

"I cannot conceive of any one of you here who does not wish to return to your home." Some began to cheer, but he raised a hand and continued. "There are over 2000 of you who have been abducted by the tyrant Kolla. There is room on Kolla's flyers for only half that number. I suggest the women be flown out, and those men and women who remain begin the trek to Ptarth. When the flyers have taken the women home, they will return for the rest of us.

"For those of you who are not Ptarthian citizens, I personally pledge safe return for you to your home cities - whether friend or foe."

Cheers rose on every side.

Carthan wasn't finished. Gesturing once more for the attention of the crowd, he went on to outline his plans for departure, calling earnestly for discipline and calm. He then released them, requesting they prepare themselves for travel. Eager as they were for escape, Kolla's former subjects filed quietly through the exits and back to their quarters where they were to gather their belongings, and for those who would travel afoot, enough food for a day or two. All were to congregate in the hanger bay within the hour.

Carthan leapt back up to Kolla's box where I awaited him. There was no time for pleasantries – though I was bursting to know how he had found us. Carthan said "I'll need your help – and Thuvia's – to help direct these people. Do you know where she is? I haven't seen her today, or since I arrived in this place."

I nodded. "She is one of the living statues in Kolla's throne room."

From the venomous look on his face as he glowered at Kolla's body, I thought Carthan would run the corpse through again. However, he shrugged and gestured at me to lead the way. "Let us find her."

Our progress through the crowds exiting the amphitheatre was achingly slow as we were repeatedly impeded by grateful men or women who wished to clasp Carthan's arm, or throw a sword at his feet. At last we reached the relative quiet of the elaborately decorated corridor and ran quickly to the throne room.

All the women were still there, unmoving, still under their ghastly spell. We found Thuvia and only a flicker of her eyes showed there was life in her. Carthan said, "Thuvia, Kolla is dead. You are free. You can break your bonds!"

But it was not enough. She told me later that Carthan's voice, which had seemed very far away and barely comprehensible, was insufficient to release her.

"Carthan!" I said. "The body! They must see the body."

He nodded grimly. "You're right of course. We must bring it here." We ran back to the amphitheatre.

With the help of a dozen strong men, we dragged that bloated corpse through the corridors and, exhausted and panting, deposited it in the centre of the throne room. The women, at first in ones and twos – Thuvia among the first – and then by tens and twenties, cast off their invisible bonds. They did not appear to have suffered any harm, because all were able to walk with us back to the hanger to join the others.

What we found there was hysteria and mayhem. The twenty flyers of Kolla's air patrol were gone, their captains believing the populace would have dismembered them before escaping.

We had no alternative now but to walk to Ptarth – all of us.

Before we could begin our trek, however, we had to find a way to escape from the cliff fortress. The only entrance was the huge crack high on a wall of the hanger, accessible only by flyer. Under Carthan's direction, the men fashioned long rope ladders which those with climbing experience fastened to the lip of the opening. Climbing those ladders was a perilous and difficult undertaking, particularly for the weak-spirited. Descending the other side was even more frightening, because the distance to the ground was farther. Regrettably, we had one casualty – a woman who had fumbled her grip and fallen to an instant death. Within a few hours, however, everyone else had reached the foot of the cliff.

Though it was mid-afternoon, with only a few hours of daylight left, we set out immediately. Carthan sent scouts ahead to find a passable route through the mountainous country ahead. While we made excellent progress that first day, I think it was because of a psychological need to leave Kolla's kingdom far behind. On the following day we were slowed, and often stalled, as the going became more difficult. The whole of that area was strewn with boulders of all sizes - some as large as an earthly house – through which some easy route had to be found without backtracking. We did, in fact, have to retrace our path two or three times in the first few days – once for several hours – when our way was found to be blocked. After that our scouts were more diligent in finding a passable route.

The first night found the two thousand of us camping in a wide, rocky canyon. It was as safe a place as any, but most of us were wakeful while the sound of hunting banths echoed through the hills. We had stationed lookouts at both ends of the canyon, while others patrolled the perimeter of the camp.

Thuvia, Carthan and I sat before our small campfire, while Carthan brought us up to date by relating his adventures up to the time he had fought in the arena.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

I have said very little to this point about my personal feelings, believing the mere narration of my adventures to be sufficient. However, Thuvia, on reading my manuscript, has pointed out its inadequacies.

The last time I conversed with Carthan had been in the flyer above Duhor, when he had been blind and completely dependent upon me. Even then I knew I had found my soulmate; but believed too that any future with him was out of the question, which was why I had fled after leaving him with Vad Varo.

Now, again, I faced the bitter knowledge that he was the one man on the planet I could not have. He was a man of high rank – a prince. And there was the age difference: I was more than a century old; he perhaps thirty Earth years. And, too, there was the matter of the woman who, he'd once said, had won his heart. It seemed quite hopeless.

Consequently there was a certain diffidence in our renewed acquaintance. After Carthan had finished the tale of his adventures, we found conversation strained. Thuvia kept it going for a while, but in time, either from frustration or tact – she has never said which! – she complained of weariness and retired.

Carthan and I were silent for a time, then he said, gazing into the fire, "For a long time I puzzled about you. What woman, for example, could kill ulsios with a single sword thrust? And how were you able so easily to scale Kam Or's wall? How did you avoid death at the hands of the Great Ape?. And how was the prison guard's arm run through so easily? He was considered an excellent swordsman."

He looked at me, his eyes alive in the flickering firelight. "Now everything is explained. Are all Jasoomians like you and Vad Varo and" – he grinned satirically – "John Carter?"

I smiled. "There are good and bad Earthmen just as there are worthy and unworthy Barsoomians. Our advantage on Barsoom, of course, is our greater agility and strength in your lesser gravity."

"That does not account for your exceptional courage, your ingenuity, your skill with the sword. . ."

I shook my head in denial. "No, no – the one has a direct bearing upon the others. On Earth I would never have had the ability – much less the inclination! – to do the things I have done here."

He regarded me skeptically. "I do not believe it."

I laughed. "Believe it!"

Then, to my chagrin, this Prince of Barsoom turned and fell to his knees before me. Taking my hands in his, he asked. "Lara, my lady – my Princess – you fled from me in Duhor. Why?"

_My Princess_, he had said. Carthan had addressed _me_ with the most intimate term in his language, meant only to be used between lovers. Agonized with indecision, I searched his beloved eyes. "It wouldn't work, my dear. I am so very much older than you. . ."

"As was once said of my parents, what matters age in a world of eternal youth?" he replied.

"Our backgrounds are so different, and . . ."

". . . and you thought my pride would prevent me from ever approaching you."

I bit my lip and held my breath.

He snorted. "Well, it might have been true at the time, but now I have new eyes, in more ways than one. I seem to be viewing life differently. . ."

". . . and you are pledged to another," I said.

He sat back on his heels, letting go of my hands. "What?"

Feeling bereft at the loss of his touch, I said tonelessly,. "It is said in Ptarth that you had rejected all advances because your heart was otherwise engaged."

He was momentarily speechless, then began to chuckle. "My beloved Lara – it was _you_."

"I? You loved me even then?"

"From the night you lay in my arms beside the maintenance building, shivering in the cold. My first instinct was to protect you. When you stopped shaking and slept, I lay awake most of that night, thinking about your incredible courage. You seemed so strong – yet somehow vulnerable. I never dreamed a woman such as you existed, and I realized my heart was indeed engaged." He snorted, "When we finally reached Duhor, we'd had no time for giving or receiving loving advances. And who was I, but a wasted, wounded caricature of a man, and you . . .."

" . . . covered in green blood," I said dryly.

"You rogue!" he exclaimed, and it was marvellous to laugh together. He pulled me into his arms, devouring all my doubts with a hungry kiss.

We sat huddled together before the fire, discussing our respective and joint ordeals long into the evening. When the blue Earth rose, he bade me tell him about my life on my home world. Other things occurred too, which need not concern the reader. Later, content and happy, I retired to the tent I shared with Thuvia and slept dreamlessly until dawn.

The tortuous trek continued for eleven long days. With each passing day my relationship with Carthan deepened, until I knew I would – _could_ not live without him.

On the morning of the twelfth day, with perhaps two thirds of our march complete, our food gone, and only a little water remaining in our supplies, a Ptarthian patrol ship spotted us. One can imagine the lone patrolman's consternation on discovering two thousand people on foot waving to him frantically. He circled lower and lower, until he was able to identify faces, and at length he spotted Thuvia and her son who had climbed on top of a boulder to wave him down. He landed immediately, whereupon he received Carthan's instructions and took off like a bolt of lightning for Ptarth.

Within three hours a fleet of Ptarthian transports had landed near us, taken everyone on board, and conveyed us back to the City.

There was great rejoicing in Ptarth as the transports moved majestically to land in the great square before the Palace. Here loved ones were reunited with those who had been abducted and many tears of happiness were shed..

There were unashamed tears of joy in the eyes of Carthoris too as he beheld his beloved Thuvia and pulled her close, and then embraced his son. He turned to me with a smile. "Lara, a fine welcome you have received to Barsoom!"

I laughed. "There have also been many happy hours," I said, glancing slyly at Carthan.

"And she shall have many more," Carthan averred, taking my hand. "Lara is to become my wife."

Too overwhelmed to speak, Carthoris embraced me as he had his son.

But another voice, its Virginian drawl unmistakable, spoke softly in my native tongue, "Welcome indeed, Lara of Earth."

I turned with a grin to look up into the steel grey eyes and handsome, smiling face of the Warlord, who had been standing nearby. "Thank you, John Carter," I said with a curtsey, to which he returned a gallant Earthly bow.

He gave me a most un-Martian wink, and then, as he drew me to his broad chest for a hug, he glanced at Carthan. "Did I not tell you she was worthy of a prince?"

"There was no need, sire," Carthan said. "I knew it all the time."

END PART I


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